


Ashes in Amaranthine

by glitterandgin



Category: Dragon Age (All Media Types), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff, As of 22 November in fact, Cinderella Elements, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Now with more smut, and all the warnings that come with them, as can be expected from me at this point, but to be more specific there's some major toxicity in their interactions, especially arl howe, still set in canon thedas though, that man is a warning unto himself, the Howes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:58:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandgin/pseuds/glitterandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a final, successful escape attempt, Anders has started a nondescript life as a small-town healer. All that changes when he's invited to the Arl of Amaranthine's Satinalia ball. (An AU based on Cinderella.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Try to avoid rashvine from now, and certainly don’t roll in a patch of it,” Anders said with a short chuckle as his latest patient, a hapless nine-year-old, jumped off the clinic cot and uttered a hasty “thank you” before bounding out the door. Leyah returned moments later, her curls bouncing as the wind from the open door tousled them. 

Shifting from foot to foot and tugging on the tattered hem of her calico dress, she said, “Sorry to bother you again, ser healer, but my mam said I should give you this. It’s not much, but we can pay you more when we sell more crops.”

She held out a handful of grubby coppers, more tarnish than coin at this point. 

Anders shook his head and said, “Keep them. Though if your mother still has some lamb stew left over, I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Leyah deposited the coppers in her dress pocket, grinning. “We’ve got that an’ more. I’ll be right back!”

With that, she skipped back out the clinic door and towards the town proper. 

Anders brushed the hairs that had come loose from his ponytail out of his face and leaned against the formerly occupied cot, grateful for a moment’s repose. Since Harvestmere had officially begun, more farmhands had come in with injuries of varying severity. The worst of the season was Levi, who’d been brought in half-dead, his leg mangled by a stolen Qunari prototype for threshing wheat. It’d taken several hours and most of his lyrium stash, but Levi was able to walk again, albeit with a limp. And this was only the beginning of what looked to be a long, interesting harvest season. 

He’d busied himself with taking stock of his supplies when Leyah returned, her gait slowed by a basket at least half her weight. Her grin, however, was weightless and contagious. 

Anders met her halfway, taking the basket and setting it on one of the cleaner cots. He said, “Thank you. Tell your mam I said hello, and I’ll be by to check on the baby’s progress this weekend.”

Leyah nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She’d always been exuberant, but it seemed the threat of permanent, stony immobility followed shortly by death had given her a newfound appreciation for her mobility. She bit her lip, stopped bouncing for a second, and said, “Mam said I wasn’t to tell you… but I thought you’d like to know! You’re always working, and you should take a break. Everyone will be there, and it’ll be fun! You’ll love it; I just know!”

Anders knelt to her level, trying not to make his confusion too obvious. “What would I love?”

Leyah’s eyes lit up like an All Soul’s Day pyre. “The ball! The Arl of Amaranthine is throwing a huge ball for Satinalia, and everyone’s invited!”

“Everyone?” Anders said, his confusion and curiosity now plastered across his face like a fool’s face paint. “Are you sure?”

Leyah nodded, her face as stiff and serious as if the rashvine had succeeded in spreading. “It’s written on the invitations. I had my mam read them to me, and then she taught me the words. Didn’t you get one?”

Anders pursed his lips, reluctant to get into a conversation that would involve explaining the words “fugitive” and “apostate”. He said, “The couriers must have got lost. These woods can be confusing for people who don’t know them.”

Leyah’s expression melted back into good humour, and she nodded again. “Okay! Well, I’m glad that you know now. I could help you pick out an outfit for it!”

Anders smiled. “That’d be lovely, Leyah. Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course! Enjoy your stew!”

With that, Leyah rushed out of the clinic, no doubt eager to return home before sunset. 

Anders stood and began rummaging through the basket of food. As requested, Leyah had delivered a serving of her mother’s lamb stew. In addition to that, her mother had stuffed in several sweet rolls and a fresh apple with a note thanking him for his help and saying in caring but uncompromising words that he better eat the food himself. Anders tucked the note away as a wave of bittersweet gratitude washed over him, flooding his lungs. He’d hardly expected this life when he’d made his final escape from Kinloch Hold, and he doubted he’d ever shake the blind panic that came with the sound of clanging armor or the mention of templars. Still, this was the closest he’d come to peace since his escape, which made the unshakeable knowledge that sooner or later he’d have to find a new hiding spot all the more painful. He’d grown used to this life--the villagers’ insatiable small-town thirst for gossip and all--and the knowledge it would never be permanent stung like oil on a fresh burn. If it weren’t for the templars--he gritted his teeth and shook his head, unwilling to let thoughts of that blighted order tarnish what had been a pleasant day. He was doing fine. And if he ever doubted a life spent clinging to the shadows of the outskirts of a town so small it barely appeared on most maps suited him, perhaps he just needed more time to adjust. It was lonely, but it was  _ safety _ . It was  _ freedom _ .  And that was what mattered most. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Nathaniel stood to the side of the room, his position relegated to “awkward bystander” once the other parties had decided he had nothing of substance to offer to the decision-making process. At the moment, the Arl and Arlessa were engaged in a nominally polite debate over whether cream or black would be a more fitting accent color for the ball’s decor. When he’d suggested grey as a compromise, both parties had rolled their eyes and proceeded to pick apart the flaws in his idea for five minutes. He’d fallen silent, taking the criticism as stoically as if he’d been petrified by his mother’s first derisive laugh. 

“Perhaps if  _ some _ people could be counted on to stay sober enough to not ruin good linens, we could use cream,” the Arlessa said in a tone like a rose-covered bear trap.

Arl Howe’s lip curled in what was, if Nathaniel was perfectly honest, an expression more pleasant than his genuine smiles. He said, “Perhaps if  _ some _ people could be bothered to raise their children properly, we wouldn’t have to worry about stained linens.”

Nathaniel rocked his weight back on one foot, weighing the costs and benefits of creeping out the door. While he’d escape the current argument, there would be more in the near future, and he didn’t want to give them more ammunition against him. He shifted his weight forward again and let his mind wander until their argument was a dull buzz in the background. 

In all likelihood, the Satinalia ball would simply be a large-scale version of the parties he’d attended in his youth. He’d dance with a few promising heiresses--carefully chosen to curry the most favour with the other nobles--before being told he was “free to retire, if he liked”, code for “get out of the ballroom before you embarrass us further.” Still, there was always the hope that he’d meet someone interesting, especially since they’d broadened the guest list now that Delilah was of marrying age. 

“What do you think, Nathaniel?” Arl Howe said, steepling his fingers. 

“Sorry?” Nathaniel said, the admission of inattention sticking in his throat like a bramble. 

The Arlessa huffed, a small, self-satisfied noise. “I don’t know why you bothered asking for his opinion. You’d get a better answer out of one of the scullery maids, and their heads are practically filled with dishwater.”

Nathaniel clenched his fists until his knuckles went white, but kept silent.

“As I was saying, Nathaniel, do you prefer fish or beef for the main course?”

“Isn’t beef a more traditional course for Satinalia?” he said, each word measured thrice before being uttered. 

“Yes, but our cellars are full of  _ white _ wine,” the Arlessa said, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you’re not suggesting we serve beef with a white wine? Do you want the guests to think us commoners?”

Nathaniel swallowed the bubble of irritation that had formed at the back of his mouth and said, “Fish, then. We’re on the coast, so it should be simple enough to get enough to serve all the guests.”

“Congratulations, Nathaniel. You managed to pick the right answer out of two, and it only took you two tries,” Arl Howe said with a sweetness like white baneberry. He cleared his throat, a cue for the correct response.

“Thank you, father,” he said, his nails biting into his palms more than ever. “May I be excused?”

“May as well quit while you’re ahead,” Arlessa Howe said, flicking her gaze towards the door. “Go on, then.”

With one final, mumbled “thanks,” Nathaniel rushed out of the room as quickly as propriety would allow. The knot of anxiety in his stomach unravelled with each step he took until his mind was clear by the time he’d returned to his chambers. He kicked the door shut behind him and rubbed his temples, his braids fraying from the friction. It was only for a little while longer. He just had to grit his teeth and bear it until the ball had passed, and then he could slip out of the spotlight and back into his customary spot at the limen of the family. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harvestmere flew by in a flurry of baled hay and shed leaves, and before Anders knew it, the Satinalia ball had transformed from a vague, imaginary event to a very real thing and the topic of most conversations he’d had as of late. 

It seemed Leyah’s statement that “everyone was invited” hadn’t been a childish hyperbole. The more information Anders gleaned from his patients, the more obvious it became that, even if he wasn’t personally invited, he hadn’t been specifically barred from attending. It was a thought he’d entertained more and more often, toying with it like an entertaining but ultimately useless bauble. It was fun to imagine attending a ball, anonymously mingling with people in a way completely separate from his daily worries, but even a Satinalia mask could only do so much to mitigate the risks. He’d almost managed to completely put the notion out of his head when one of his patients presented a small package wrapped in rumpled but clean vellum and tied with an orange ribbon. 

“It’s your payment, serah,” Jermaine said, flexing his wrists and nodding in approval at their reduced stiffness. “Go on, open it.”

Anders tugged on one end of the ribbon slowly, letting the satin do most of the work for him as the bow untied itself. He placed the ribbon off to the side and peeled away the vellum to reveal a blue silk mask with delicate gold embroidery details. Small black feathers trimmed the upper edge, like inky mountains above a lake at sunset. 

“Thank you?” Anders said, his voice growing choked at the end of the sentence. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s for the ball,” Jermaine said with a nervous smile. “I’d heard you telling Simone that you didn’t have anything to wear to the ball, so I thought I could at least help with the mask bit. Do you like it?”

Anders nodded, his words piling up on each other and clogging his windpipe. He swallowed and said, “It’s… It’s amazing. Thank you, Jermaine.”

“It was nothing, serah! I hope to see you there,” Jermaine said, clasping Anders’ shoulder firmly before walking to the door. “Though I understand if you don’t go. At least now you have a proper choice.”

Anders whispered one final “thank you” as the door shut behind Jermaine. 

#

By all definitions, he was not very good at sewing. It was one thing to mend a small hole in his robes with minimal snags or puckering, but anything that required a skill level that could be measured in positive numbers was entirely beyond him. As he stared at the frayed mass of fabric with equally frayed nerves, Anders wondered if he owned any clothes that didn’t scream “apostate with poor self-preservation skills.”

The instructions had told him to “cut on the bias.” The only bias he could find was the one the puddle of satin clearly had against him. When he’d tried on the top after he’d sewed it together, it became obvious that the garment he’d sewn was designed for a cephalopod significantly smaller than him. Perhaps he would have stood a chance of fitting into it if half the fabric hadn’t disappeared in a pile of wispy threads the moment he cut out the pieces. He shook his head, letting the fabric slip from his fingers and onto the dirt floor. It was hopeless.

The candle sputtered as the last of the tallow joined the puddle, exposing the flame to hot grease. 

“If I ever needed a sign to give up and go to bed,” Anders said, moving to extinguish the candle fully. Before he’d reached it, there was a knock at the door.

Anders moved to open it, hesitated, and grabbed his staff. More likely than not, it was a villager whose child had caught a sudden fever, but he couldn’t be too careful. He opened the door just enough to see outside, his staff at the ready but invisible to his visitor. 

A woman leaned against his doorframe, blood seeping from a gash on her abdomen. Sweat poured down her face, sticking her curly chestnut hair to her forehead. In a raspy voice too close to a death rattle for Anders’ liking, she said, “Are you the healer?”

Anders flung the door open, dropping his staff and helping her limp into the clinic. Once she’d been situated onto a cot, Anders grabbed the strongest health poultice he had. 

Uncorking the vial, he said, “This might be a bit chilly. Sorry about that.”

She nodded, her jaw clenched as Anders slowly drizzled the health poultice onto the wound. When the bottle was empty, he cast a healing spell, keeping his power constant until her flesh had completely mended. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice still husky but much stronger. 

“My pleasure,” Anders said, bracing himself against the cot. “What happened?”

She waved a hand languidly, dismissing the question. “What do you charge for healing?”

Anders pursed his lips, then said, “Whatever you can spare. If that’s nothing, then that’s what it costs. Saving the life of a beautiful woman was more than payment enough.”

She chuckled, a sound like fancy Orlesian chocolate. “And does that payment help with expenses?”

“Sadly, no,” he said with a smile. “Do you have a place to stay tonight? My cots aren’t very comfortable, but I’ve heard they’re better than the forest floor.”

“You’re too kind,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “Do you have spare blankets?”

“I’ll be back in a flash,” he said, half-jogging to his supply closet in the back of his clinic. 

There was nothing to temper good-cheer like looking in his supply closet. While he’d managed to stock up on the ingredients he needed for most of his potions, his spare blankets looked more like cheesecloth than anything someone would use to keep warm. After five minutes of comparing the hole-to-fabric ratio of them, he returned to the main clinic with a worn green throw. 

The woman was nowhere to be seen. In her place, there was a folded set of new robes, entirely too ornate and pristine to be mistaken for anything he owned. A small card sat on top of the robes. It read,  _ I hope this is payment enough. Thank you. - Emelia  _

Anders gingerly picked up the robes, which glittered as though someone had poured molten gold into the blue silk while it was being woven. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as he’d thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Nathaniel winced in sympathy as he trod on Lady Rice’s foot for the fifth time that dance, muttering a quick apology as he did so. Her grip, which had been strong, if not enthusiastic, had gradually waned until her gloved fingertips just barely brushed against his. When the song ended, she performed the fastest curtsy he’d ever seen before disappearing into the crowd. He didn’t have to look at his parents to know exactly how displeased they were with the latest in a long line of disappointing dances. If he went to speak with them, would they point him towards another unlucky dance partner, or would they take pity and excuse him to his chambers?

He’d turned on his heel to approach them when a flash of blue and gold caught his eye. Reversing his course so abruptly he nearly twisted his ankle, Nathaniel picked his way through the crowd until he reached the man who’d captured his attention. Sneaking a furtive glance to make sure the Arl and Arlessa weren’t paying attention, he said, “Pardon, but I don’t recall seeing you before.”

There was a burst of panic poorly concealed by the man’s mask before his features smoothed into a smile and he said, “I don’t usually run in your social circles. Messere Howe, isn't it?”

Nathaniel let his fingers brush lightly against the man’s wrist, enough for him to feel it, but subtle enough to remain unnoticed by everyone else. He said, “You seem to have the advantage of me, Messere…?”

“Anders.” He twisted his wrist so their fingertips made miniscule, electrifying contact. He said, “May I be so bold as to ask you for a dance, Messere Howe?”

Nathaniel risked another glance at his parents. The action didn’t go unnoticed. 

Anders pursed his lips, then smiled and said, “Perhaps we could go to a more… clandestine location? If you’re interested.”

Nathaniel took Anders’ hand, releasing it almost immediately after. “That sounds wonderful. Do you see that corridor on the north side of the room? Only the servants use it; nobody should bother us there. I’ll leave first, and you can join me in a few minutes.”

Anders nodded, and Nathaniel slipped off into the crowd, mingling every so often to make his path across the room seem incidental. When he reached the darkened corridor, he leaned against the stone wall and waited, his heartbeat drowning out the noises of the party as he inhaled barely enough air to keep him upright. This was a mistake. Even with these precautions, there were a thousand ways they could get caught. A drunk partygoer could wander down the hallway and spot them, or a servant could be sent for more refreshments at exactly the wrong time, or…

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Anders said, appearing next to him. “Did you still want that dance?”

Nathaniel forced the tension out of his shoulders and said, “Absolutely. Though I’m afraid I’m hopeless at most of the popular dances.”

Anders stepped in front of him, placing his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders and tilting his head as he focused on the band’s latest song. “It sounds like a waltz. Think you can manage that?”

Nathaniel took one of Anders’ hands, resting his other hand on Anders’ waist. Anders rolled his eyes, then nudged Nathaniel’s hand so his palm was on the small of his back. They waited until the band had completed the first measure, then began to dance.

“Ouch,” Anders hissed as Nathaniel stepped on his toes on the first beat.

“Sorry,” Nathaniel said. “I did warn you.”

“Let’s try this,” Anders said, stopping and standing still. Nathaniel followed suit, and Anders said, “Do you think you can handle swaying to the music? Without too much bodily harm, I mean.”

“I think I can do that,” he said, stepping closer to Anders until their faces were only millimetres apart. Anders released Nathaniel’s hand and wrapped both arms around his neck, just barely moving to the waltz’s beat. 

When he’d first entered the corridor, it had been chilled and dark, the faint smell of mildew nestled in the mortar. Now, as he swayed in time to a waltz that seemed to come from an entirely different world, the corridor had never been so warm and welcoming.

“Do you live nearby?” Nathaniel said, keeping his voice low enough for the stone to absorb. 

Anders made a noncommittal noise, then added, “Do you know the woods on the outskirts of Crope?”

“I’m somewhat familiar with them,” Nathaniel said, acutely aware of how Anders’ breath tickled his ear. “I’m amazed you could make it, if you live out there.”

“I had some help,” Anders said, reaching up to run his fingers through the ends of Nathaniel’s hair. “I don’t recall the Howes throwing Satinalia balls this large before. Are they trying to find you a spouse?”

Nathaniel snorted, toying with the lower edge of Anders’ mask with one hand. “I doubt they’re anywhere near that optimistic at this point. My father’s probably going to try raising taxes, and he thinks a ball will smooth things over with the peasants. We’ll see how that goes come spring. But, to answer your question, my parents gave up on finding a wife for me years ago. I never seem to be compatible with any of their picks.”

“Is that so?” Anders said, pushing Nathaniel’s mask up so it rested on top of his head. “I wonder why that could be.”

Nathaniel removed Anders’ mask, leaning forward until it would take only the slightest breeze for their lips to touch. “It’s a mystery, truly.”

“Indeed,” Anders said, the word little more than an impression on his exhaled breath. He closed the space between them, their lips meeting for the slimmest of seconds before Anders leapt back. “Shit. I… I have to go. Is there a way out through this hall?”

Nathaniel blinked, the words reconfiguring themselves in his mind until he finally made sense of them. “There should be, straight through the last door on the left. What’s--?”

“No time to explain. I’m glad I met you, Nate. Take care.”

And with that, Nathaniel found himself with nothing but a blue silk mask and the memory of champagne-scented warmth against his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it's been so long since I updated; work started up for the semester, so things have been a little hectic. I hope you're all doing well, and thanks for sticking with me! :)


	5. Chapter 5

What were the odds that, at that particular moment, Arl Howe would have deigned to mingle near the servants’ corridor? Not just near it, either. Of course not. He had to practically appoint himself guard of that particular entrance. Anders stopped, glancing over his shoulder towards the estate. Nathaniel would be able to avoid his father’s notice, right? Surely he knew a way past him… Anders shook his head. He’d be fine. It wasn’t as though Arl Howe had any definitive proof of what Nathaniel had been doing in the hall. Nathaniel would be fine. The best thing Anders could do for him was to be far away from Amaranthine proper by the time the ball was over. With any luck, the Arl’s suspicions would be swept away with the rest of the party’s debris. 

When he’d passed the outskirts of town, panic gave way to giddiness. He’d done it. Maker, he’d… he’d done it. Nobody had suspected a thing, up until his conversation with Nathaniel. A laugh, more of an exclaimed syllable of delight, escaped him as he leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Any lingering traces of the day’s warmth had dissipated, leaving a chill that poked through his clothes and buried itself in his skin like glass shards. Despite this, his discomfort was little more than a footnote in his thoughts as he resumed his walk home. 

The sun had already melted the dew on the grass by the time Anders arrived at his hut. Its light had had a similar effect on his memories of the ball, dissolving their immediacy until they seemed like little more than a half-remembered dream. A pleasant one, but no more real or impactful on his life than any other dream.

Yawning, Anders unlocked his front door, nudging it shut behind him as he stumbled, footsore and dance-drunk, to his battered and lumpy cot. He was asleep the moment he sank onto the glorified collection of rags and blankets.

When he woke, it was almost nightfall and the taste of stale champagne and sleep filled his mouth. Grimacing and wishing he’d had the forethought to at least rinse his mouth out before falling asleep, he slumped out of bed in search of something to replace the aftertaste of a night of celebration. 

While his search for water returned nothing--he’d have to remember to go to the well soon, especially with Mrs Bunch’s baby on the way--he eventually found the last of some ginger chews he’d bought several months ago. Those would have to do. 

As he sat on the floor in the dark, chewing on ginger sweets that had just begun to go sticky and hard, he found himself longing for the warmth and weight of someone else’s hand in his. And he’d been doing  _ so well _ , too, keeping attachments as professional and lukewarm as possible. Honestly, this was just embarrassing. If his thoughts were any mushier, they could be pulped and sold unedited as the sort of cheap romance novel that was passed around the tower chapter by chapter. 

At least, he thought, he’d chosen a fairly safe option as far as infatuations went. Barring truly extraordinary circumstances, he was never going to see Nathaniel again. In time, the spark of romance would fizzle away, and it’d be the most painless romantic encounter he’d had. 

After a week, both the weather and his passion had cooled considerably.  His days were almost entirely devoted to gathering supplies and preparing poultices for any winter emergencies, leaving little time for any but the most fleeting of fantasies.  But once the sun set and he’d settled under the small pile of blankets he’d amassed over the winters, the desire for companionship slipped back into his thoughts like a winter breeze through a narrow crack in the window, leaving a bone-deep chill of longing that lasted until the sun rose.  

“Messere Anders!” 

Anders tumbled out of bed, discovered that travel is significantly harder when one is still mostly cocooned in a collection of blankets, and toppled to the floor.  He reached the door in record time, leaving a trail of blankets in his wake.  

He flung open the door to reveal a small crowd of children, most of whom were only haphazardly dressed in their winter clothes.  “What’s wrong?” 

“There’s a man in the woods!  He’s all covered in blood, an’ we’ve never seen him around before!” their de facto leader, Penley, said, waving in what Anders presumed was the direction of the injured man.  

“You didn’t try to move him, did you?” he said, crouching to pull on his boots.  

Penley shook her head, her expression serious as a snakebite. 

“Good.  Let me grab my coat, and then can you lead me to him?” 

During the night, several feet of snow had fallen, transforming the pastoral town into a scene out of a misanthropic poet’s dreams--all signs of humanity had retreated indoors or been buried beneath the snow, leaving nothing but pristine, silent nature.  As the children led Anders into the woods, talking over one another as they attempted to explain how Tristan had tripped over the injured man during a snowball fight, the sky darkened with heavy snow clouds.  By the time they arrived at the site of the snowball fight, another dusting of snow had begun to fall.  

“There he is!” Tristan cried, pointing to a dark form just barely discernible from the fallen tree next to it.  “Is he dead?” 

“I’m sure he’s not,” Anders said, gesturing for the children to stay back as he approached the tree.  “Why don’t you go home?  I can handle it from here.”  

Once he was certain they’d left, Anders moved to the man’s side for a closer inspection.  He lay prone and barely breathing on the ground, the deep gash that crossed from his side to his back visible as it seeped blood sluggishly into the snow.  It was still bleeding.  He was still alive.  

“Maker, why didn’t I think to grab any health poultices?” Anders grumbled, checking the man for signs of consciousness.  It was risky to perform magic on a stranger, but it was riskier to transport him back to the clinic in his current state.  He called up enough magic to heal the cut inconspicuously, then rolled the man over to help him back to the clinic where he could fully recuperate.  

“Maker’s breath,” Anders said, nearly dropping his newest patient.  “Nate?” 


	6. Chapter 6

Nathaniel opened his eyes just enough to confirm his suspicions that someone had found him and rescued him from what had seemed like an inevitable death in the snow.  From the brief glimpse he’d got before closing his eyes against the light, he got the impression of a clinic, but nothing he’d seen gave him specific details about where his rescuer had brought him.  

“I never would have guessed you snored,” a familiar voice said, growing louder at the end of the sentence as its owner approached him.  

Nathaniel swallowed, his tongue clumsy with sleep.  When his mouth felt closer to normal after several more swallows, he said, “Anders? How did you find me?”

“Half-dead and bleeding in the snow,” Anders said, placing another blanket on him and tucking it in around the edges.  

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, still keeping his eyes closed.  

“Some of the local children found you while they were out playing,” Anders added after a second.  “What were you doing in this area?  What happened to you?”

Nathaniel shivered under the blankets and said, “I was looking for you.  It’s quite slippery out there, you know.”  

“So . . . you fell.  And that’s what gave you a giant gash on your side,” Anders said, the doubt in his voice so evident that it was practically a separate entity in the clinic.  His fingers brushed against Nathaniel’s temple as he brushed the hair out of his face.  “It’s nice seeing you again, murderous weather aside.”  

Nathaniel opened his eyes fully, letting out a small, barely audible gasp as he did so.  While he’d held onto the memory of the ball like a miser clutching their last piece of gold, it paled in comparison to seeing Anders in the flesh again.  He gingerly propped himself up on one elbow and opened his mouth, waiting for the right words to convey the way his world was brighter and warmer when they were together, like a lantern had been lit in his heart. When no words came to him, he simply smiled.  

Anders pressed a kiss to Nathaniel’s forehead, his cheeks coloring slightly as he said, “I don’t normally invite people into my bed so soon, but I’ve given you most of my clean blankets, and it gets pretty cold at night.”  

Nathaniel sat up fully.  “How can I say no to an invitation like that?”

Anders helped him off the cot, holding onto Nathaniel’s arms long after he’d regained  his balance.  For a few minutes, they simply stood and embraced each other, the moment too precious and delicate for speech.  Finally, Anders said, “I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t dare to hope...”  

Nathaniel held Anders tighter, just focusing on the sensation of heat and heartbeat beneath his hands.  A thought struck him as Anders ran a hand up his side slowly.  “What happened to my injuries?”

Anders froze in his arms. When he spoke, his tone was detached and cautious.  “I healed you.”  

The implications of Anders’ statement and the fact that he lived on the outskirts of a town that was basically glorified outskirts sunk in.  “You’re an apostate, aren’t you?”

“And if I am?” Anders said, still stiff and cold.  “Will you turn me over to the first templar you see?” 

Nathaniel took a step back so they could see each other’s faces clearly.  Placing a hand on Anders’ cheek, he said, “I promise you, that will never happen.”  

Anders made a noise between a hiccup and a laugh.  “That’s a lofty promise from someone who was bested by the snow.”  

“Are you saying I’m in danger of slipping on a templar?” Nathaniel said, smiling as Anders stepped forward to embrace him again.  

“Mmm, probably not,” Anders said, the last word trailing off into a yawn.  He yawned again and said, “Bed?”

Nathaniel nodded, moving to grab the pile of blankets off his cot before following Anders to the alcove where he kept his bed.  

It wasn’t until they’d arranged the blankets and climbed under them, Anders nestled against his chest, that Nathaniel let himself realize his attackers had worn templar armor.  But exhaustion was a powerful foe, and he found himself drifting back to sleep before he could get a word of warning out.  


	7. Chapter 7

Anders woke to warm, tickly breath on the back of his neck and the reassuring presence of an arm draped over his waist.  He considered extricating himself from Nathaniel’s embrace, and got as far as stretching his muscles before relaxing back into bed and closing his eyes.  For a wonderful moment, the world had condensed into a cozy bed shared with a man he couldn’t wait to get to know better.  

It all came to an abrupt halt ten seconds later, of course, when Nathaniel bolted upright in bed, flinging the covers off and shouting about templars.  By the time Anders’ had remembered to breathe again, Nathaniel was already out of bed and pulling on his boots.  

“Get dressed.  If they haven’t found your hut by now, they probably will soon,” Nathaniel said, crushing all hope that his non-sequitur had been the remnants of a dream.  “I should have warned you last night--”

“You didn’t know,” Anders said, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and squeezing gently.  With any luck, he sounded and looked calmer than he was.  Escape attempts didn’t go well when everyone panicked.  He leaned forward, stopping a centimetre away from Nathaniel’s lips, heart stuttering as he waited for Nathaniel to react in some way.  To his relief--elation, even--Nathaniel completed the kiss, slipping his arms around Anders’ neck and sighing some of his tension into the infinitesimal space between them when they parted. 

“Thanks,” Nathaniel said, kissing Anders lightly, their lips barely touching for more than a second.  “But we need to--”

“Yeah,” Anders said,  moving away to grab the emergency pack he’d stored under his bed the moment he’d furnished the cottage. He pulled on his feathered coat, not bothering with the fastenings, before lacing up his boots tight around his ankles.  He grabbed his staff from the corner and said, “Are you sure?  You don’t have to come along; they’re not looking for you.  You don’t know what you could be giving up if you run away with me.”  

Nathaniel finished getting dressed, then walked over to him, taking Anders’ free hand and running his thumb over the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.  He said, “I know that nothing I’m leaving behind could possibly make up for leaving you.”  

Anders dropped his staff, wrapping his arms around Nathaniel’s neck and kissing him once more.  This time, Nathaniel didn’t move away the moment their lips touched; instead, he clutched at Anders’ coat as though he meant to tear it to pieces.  Affection laced itself around Anders’ ribs like a rope, pulling them taut and rigid as the kiss continued.  When they separated, it felt like he’d never be able to breathe properly again.  “We really should . . . If you’re certain, that is.”  

“Did that seem uncertain, Anders?” Nathaniel said.  By the tone of his voice, it sounded like his ribs were just as affected by the kiss.  He brought Anders’ hand to his lips and kissed the back before saying, “I’m coming with you.”

“I . . . thank you,” Anders said, the ropes winding their way around his windpipe.  He knew that when they finally unravelled, they’d leave a tangled mess of emotions in the pit of his stomach, but hopefully it could wait until they were far out of the templars’ reach. “We should get going.”  

They crept out of the cottage and into the woods, the snow stinging their faces and obscuring their path as they ventured further and further into unsettled land.  With the snowstorm becoming a blizzard proper and the little light they got having been filtered through several layers of cloud, snow, and trees, perhaps “unsettling” was a better descriptor.  Anders could barely see Nathaniel two feet to the left of him, and the wind snatched the words and carried them away as he yelled, “I think I see a cave nearby.  Maybe we should hide there until the storm calms down.”

“Good idea,” Nathaniel said, his voice masked by the shriek of the wind.  He took Anders’ hand, and together they entered the cave.  


	8. Chapter 8

It was too damp to light a fire, that much was certain.  They’d already ventured far enough into the cave that there wasn’t enough ventilation for the smoke, and the wet chill only increased as the storm outside wore on.  They’d huddled together against the side of the cavern, their breath condensing in the air as they gradually stopped shivering enough to lay out Anders’ bedroll.  They crawled in, Anders laying his coat over top of the roll for extra warmth.  

Once they had settled as best as they could, with Anders’ back pressed to Nathaniel’s chest, Nathaniel said, “We can’t stay here.  Do you know where we could go once the storm clears?” 

Anders, whose teeth were still chattering faintly, said, “I’m going to assume you have a good reason for not wanting to go back to your home.”

Nathaniel rubbed Anders’ shoulder and bicep until the chattering of his teeth was little more than a faint, intermittent click.  He said, “It’s not a good idea to go back there.  Suffice it to say that there’s a reason I left when I did.  No offense, but I might have waited until after the blizzard to go looking for you if I’d been given the choice.”  

“No, that makes sense,” Anders said, rolling over to face Nathaniel and kissing him on the tip of his nose.  “We’ll figure something out.”  

Nathaniel nodded, more to demonstrate that he was listening than as a show of faith in their competence.  He draped his arm over Anders’ shoulder, resting his chin on the top of Anders’ head.  He closed his eyes, listening to Anders’ breathing slow and deepen as he fell asleep.  

The minutes ticked by, sleep becoming more hopeless with each one.  Cold weather had always invigorated him.  He might not have minded so much if he was capable of doing anything but reliving the moments prior to his decision to search for Anders.  

_ “Your mother and have been discussing this for a long time,” Arl Howe said by way of greeting the moment Nathaniel entered the room.  Nothing good had ever come of a conversation that started without a proper greeting; it meant a foregone conclusion preceded by a list of every misstep Nathaniel had taken to get to this point.   _

_ Nathaniel clasped his hands behind his back and waited for them to continue.   _

_ “While you’ve behaved satisfactorily for the past few weeks, we believe you could benefit from experience outside of Ferelden,” Arl Howe said, glancing at the Arlessa.   _

_ “Perhaps in the Free Marches,” she added with a curt nod.  “I have a cousin--you remember Ser Rodolphe, yes?  He’s agreed to squire you.”   _

_ “But--” Nathaniel said, arguments failing him.  The only thought he could still cling to--Anders--would only condemn him faster.  If only to forestall the order to pack his bags, he said, “Who will inherit the Arling?” _

_ “You never seemed concerned about that before,” his father said, upper lip curling slightly.  “Why should you start now? That’s none of your business now, boy.  You’ll board a ship to the Free Marches in a week.  I suggest you start packing.”   _

_ “Yes, father,” Nathaniel said, hoping his expression didn’t reveal the fact that his stomach churned as though he’d been punched in the gut.  “I’ll begin immediately.”  _

_ He struck out for Anders’ village after the servants had gone to bed that night. _

The wind whistled at the cave entrance, and Anders stirred slightly.  Without thinking, Nathaniel pressed a kiss to the top of Anders’ head, freezing with his nose still buried in Anders’ hair.  He willed the tension out of his neck and shoulders.  As preposterous as it seemed, he was safe now.  He didn’t need to plan every moment of intimacy around his family’s schedules, or carefully omit any damning details about his activities.  He kissed Anders’ head again and let his newfound realization lull him to sleep.  

When he woke, someone was gently untangling the knots in his hair with their fingers, and the bedroll was colder than before.  

“Did you sleep well?” Anders said, pausing to massage Nathaniel’s scalp.  

“Better than I thought I would, considering,” he said, opening his eyes and sitting up.  Anders was already out of the bedroll, though he’d yet to put on his coat.  It remained draped over the bedroll.  “Has the storm cleared?”

“As much as it’s likely to,” Anders said, pulling on his coat as Nathaniel climbed out of the bedroll.  “We can make decent progress if we leave soon.  There are some villages nearby, but . . .”

“They’re likely to pose the same problems as the last one,” Nathaniel said.  He pulled on his outerwear and said, “I might know of a family who could help us.  They’re pledged to my father, but they have no love for him.  Their freehold shouldn’t be too far from here, if you want to take a chance on it.”  

Anders packed up the bedroll and said, “What other choice do we have?”

Nathaniel stared out of the cave at the frozen, silent landscape.  By his estimation, they had no choice at all.  

When they arrived at Cabot Manor, only the light that shone faintly through frosted window panes indicated that the building was occupied.  The guards, which in Nathaniel’s memory had always been stationed at the front gates regardless of weather, were nowhere to be seen, and a stifling silence seemed to radiate out of the stone walls.  

“Maybe we should try somewhere else?” Anders said when nobody had answered the door in five minutes.  

Nathaniel frowned, knocking again.  “Their lights are on.  This isn’t like them.”  

The door opened, and even the creak of its hinges seemed muffled.  Leona, Bann Lisette’s maid, blinked at them several times as though waiting for them to disappear.  When they remained on the doorstep, she said, “Nathaniel?  What are you doing here?”

“We were hoping we could stay here for a while, until it’s safer to travel.  We can pay for our room and board,” he said, peering past her into the foyer.  Several centimeters of dust coated the floor, interrupted only by puddles of wax from candles that had been left to burn for too long.  

Leona clicked her tongue before nodding.  “Follow me.  You’re welcome to stay here, though I can’t guarantee you’ll want to for more than one night.”  

“Why?  What’s wrong?” Anders said as they followed her inside.  Signs of disrepair littered the manor, from threadbare tapestries to rotted stairs that bent and moaned as they were walked on.  

She shook her head and remained silent until they’d arrived at the guest room.  Pulling the door shut behind her, she said, “Keep your door locked at night.  I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out again.  I’m sorry you have to see us like this.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfhearted attempt at a Halloween cliffhanger? I'll try to get the next chapter up sometime soon. :)


	9. Chapter 9

“Well, it certainly has atmosphere,” Anders said as they locked the door and laid down their supplies. 

“I think that’s from the hole in the roof,” Nathaniel said, gesturing to a spot in the ceiling where snow fluttered in freely. He grimaced. “I’m sorry, I thought this would have been better than the cave. I’d heard rumours that the Cabots had fallen on hard times, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Anders gave Nathaniel a peck on the cheek and said, “Think of it as an adventure. An adventure with about twenty different kinds of mould and the potential for us to be murdered in our sleep, but an adventure.”

“Right,” Nathaniel said, struggling not to smile and failing. It could have been a byproduct of the draft that blew in through the ceiling, but his cheeks had tinted pink after Anders kissed him. “I suppose you’ll want to explore at night even after we’ve been warned not to.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little intrigued,” Anders said, donning his most winning smile. “And it’s not like we were going to get much sleep here, anyway.”

Nathaniel stepped forward, running a thumb over Anders’ cheekbone. Anders shivered. “And here I had other ideas for spending the night.”

Anders licked his lips, raising his eyebrows. “Is that so? Then I guess we’ll just have to be quick about discovering the cause of the mystery dereliction.”

“It’s probably a ghost that wants to eat our faces as recompense for ancient sins,” Nathaniel said, rolling his eyes. 

“Do nobles have a lot of experience with face-eating, sin-obsessed ghosts?” Anders said, his tone growing playful. “Is there a coming of age ritual where your parents explain what horrible crimes you’ll have to atone for to placate the spirits?”

“There may as well be,” Nathaniel said, serious. “You know well enough that the past has a way of finding you, especially once you think you’ve moved on.”

Anders embraced Nathaniel and kissed him softly, moving back an inch or so before Nathaniel kissed him again, their passion growing as hands tangled in hair and nails scratched futilely at clothes. 

From several floors below, a shriek like metal being twisted and rent rang through the manor. Nathaniel jumped back, his teeth catching on Anders’ lower lip and drawing blood.

“I’m going to guess that’s our spirit,” Anders said, wiping the blood off his lip. 

Nathaniel winced sympathetically. “Ah. Sorry about that.”

Anders waved off the apology. “Healer, remember? A bloody lip is nothing. But you know what would help it? Exorcise. Get it? Like--”

“Maker,” Nathaniel muttered. “Let’s get this over with, if only to prevent more puns.”

“Good luck with that,” Anders said with a snort.

They crept through the hall and down the stairs to the source of the noise. As they walked, Anders was certain he saw his shadow tip its head back and scream, its limbs twisted in agony, but the aberration disappeared whenever he turned to look at it fully. 

“Anders,” Nathaniel whispered, gesturing for him to stop and inspect the wall. Five deep gouges had carved through most of the wall, stopping just barely a hairsbreadth before the timber framing. As Anders leaned closer to inspect the scores, a small, pink-white object embedded in the wall caught his attention. It was a fingernail, ripped off at the cuticle.

“We should… We should keep moving,” Anders said, letting the fingernail fall from his cold, numb hands. 

They’d reached the ground floor. There was a hushed, almost silent flow of air like an intake of breath. Then, the metal shriek began again, though this time Anders could too easily imagine its source in the form of a large iron ribcage warping and collapsing in on itself as its owner tried in vain to speak. 

When the noise had died down, he said, “I think it’s coming from the parlour.”

“Right. Let’s. Go look at it,” Nathaniel said, his jaw tense enough to muddle his words. 

Anders reached out to caress his arm, trying his best to ignore the fact that his shadow’s fingers had been broken until they were unrecognizable as digits without some other frame of reference. He made the mistake of looking at his shadow again; this time, as he reached out, Nathaniel’s shadow grabbed his shadow’s wrist with both hands and twisted, the bones snapping like they were made of cobwebs. He drew his hand back, just barely managing not to scream. 

“What’s wrong?” Nathaniel said, leaning closer to him. Anders couldn’t suppress his flinch.

Anders glanced at his shadow again. It was completely normal. He shuddered and said, “It’s nothing. Let’s inspect the parlour.”

The parlour door swung open as they reached it, smacking against the wall and rattling on its hinges. 

“That’s… inviting,” Anders said, his voice taut as a bowstring. He peered into the room, but it was like a living blackness filled the parlour. Instead of darkness being the absence of light, it had taken on its own dimension and its presence was as palpable--if not more so--as that of any living being. Before self-preservation could convince him to return to the bedroom, Anders entered the parlour with Nathaniel by his side.

“I told you to stay in the room,” Leona said as she stared down at her folded hands, her tone the thin layer of ice over an otherwise thawed lake. Around her, the shadows flickered and wove themselves into intricate, almost humanoid shapes. “It’s not safe here.”

“What’s going on, Leona?” Nathaniel said as the shadows’ outlines became sharper. If it was possible, the shadows had shadows. 

She raised her head, her jaw set as thought it’d been carved that way from stone. “It’s the Cabots.”

At the mention of her employers’ names, the shadows buzzed and shook. 

“Pardon?” Nathaniel said, reaching for Anders’ hand without looking at him. 

“This is them. What’s left of them. It happened about six months ago. They were so angry all the time--at us, at each other--and one day they turned into these,” she said, gesturing to the shadows, which recoiled from her finger. “And then so did all of us, the servants, one by one. Except for me. I’m the only one they’d listen to after they turned, and now I’m the only one left.”

“We could find a way to banish them,” Anders said, squeezing Nathaniel’s hand as he spoke. “There must be some spell or ritual…”

“No,” Leona said, her voice calm but firm. “They haven’t done anything to deserve that. They’re scared, and communicating in the only way they can. I’m working out a way to help them. If anything, their communication skills are better now than back when they were people. Maybe that was the problem.”

“Are you sure?” Anders said, refusing to look at his own shadow. 

Leona fished under the worn blue armchair in which she sat and pulled out a parchment and planchette. “It’s surprisingly effective. And they’ve calmed down quite a bit, despite what you may have seen. I think your presence startled them.”

“Oh,” Anders said, amazed he’d been able to say that much. Everything he’d felt on the way to the parlour had been snuffed out. 

“Is that all, messeres?” Leona said, smiling as she tucked the paper and planchette back under her chair. When Anders and Nathaniel nodded, she said, “Do you need help finding your room again?”

“No, thank you,” Nathaniel said, bowing slightly. “Thank you again for your hospitality. Good night, Leona.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too awful a place to end the chapter, but I desperately need sleep before my mom's wedding. I'll try to get the next chapter written soon!


	10. Chapter 10

“I don’t suppose you could use magic to light the fireplace?” Nathaniel said once they’d returned to their room.

Anders inspected the fireplace, pursing his lips as a moth fluttered down the chimney and towards his face. “I don’t think it’s been cleaned since…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "And that’s being optimistic. We might get enough ventilation from the hole in the roof, but--”

“It’s best not to risk it,” Nathaniel said with a barely suppressed shiver. “Right.”

Anders took Nathaniel’s hands and rubbed them between his, creating enough friction to abate the chill somewhat. “Burning your host’s house down doesn’t strike me as very polite.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “You’d be surprised at what the nobility consider polite. There’s been at least one war over whether or not blue and purple paisley was an appropriate decorative motif for a summer home.”

“What did they decide?” 

“They never did. They completely forgot what the war was about a week after it started. That didn’t keep them from continuing it for another five months, of course,” Nathaniel said, gently withdrawing his hands only to place them on Anders’ hips. 

Anders stepped into the loose embrace, saying, “I might be a little rusty, but are frivolous wars really the best topic for bedroom talk?”

“Probably not, but it has to be better than ‘lie back and think of the Orlesian Empire in the Blessed Age’,” Nathaniel said, smiling slightly. “Especially since I can’t imagine a time when it’s advisable to think of Orlais.”

Anders laughed, then kissed him. “Good point,” he said, tilting his head towards the bed. “Shall we…?”

Nathaniel kissed him, and a sensation like liquid fire travelled down his spine. It spread through his nerves, relaxing his muscles until he couldn’t help but melt against Nathaniel’s chest. Lips pressed to Anders’ neck, Nathaniel murmured, “We shall.”

Anders shivered as Nathaniel’s facial hair scratched against his sensitive neck. Reluctantly, he slipped out of Nathaniel’s arms and began disrobing, shrugging off his coat and grimacing a little as the draft from the roof returned with renewed vigor. With eagerness partially inspired by a desire to climb under the covers, he stripped off his remaining clothes and turned back to Nathaniel, who was in a similar state of both chill and undress.

“Having second thoughts?” Anders said, proud of how steady his tone was in spite of the fact that his jaw chattered so much it felt like his teeth were vibrating. “Because we could just--”

“Are you?” Nathaniel said, taking Anders’ wrist and stroking the inside of it with his thumb. His eyes were soft, like lingering clouds long after the storm had passed. 

Anders licked his lips, then shook his head. Gesturing with his free hand, he said, “After you.”

They climbed into bed and lay facing each other, content to simply kiss and huddle for warmth under the covers for several minutes. When the worst of his chill had passed, Anders let his fingers roam over Nathaniel’s torso, taking note of how Nathaniel’s breathing quickened when he gently scraped his nails over his nipples. 

Nathaniel kissed Anders’ neck again, just barely nipping at the flesh with his teeth. Anders gasped, arching into the sensation and burying his hands in Nathaniel’s hair. Nathaniel changed his focus, kissing his way across Anders’ collarbone before sucking at the hollow of his throat. 

Anders slung a leg over Nathaniel’s hips, grinding against him as Nathaniel’s hand trailed lower down his back. 

“Do you have anything we could use?” Nathaniel said, his hand resting on the small of Anders’ back. 

Anders blinked, his brain taking a second to process the words. He said, “I think I’ve got something.”

Anders sat up, taking Nathaniel’s hand in both of his and conjuring some grease. “It’s not as good as a working fireplace, but it looks like my magic was good for something tonight.”

Nathaniel sat up and kissed him, his newly slicked hand slipping between Anders’ thighs and easing a finger in. Anders moved, shifting so he was poised just above Nathaniel’s lap. He looped his arms around Nathaniel’s neck, rocking forward in time with Nathaniel’s motions. 

Their surroundings momentarily forgotten, they moved in gasps and whispers, an unspeakable fondness growing like a sunrise between them--easily dismissed at first, but growing brighter and warmer until its existence was an undeniable part of the natural world. When they had finished and cleaned up, even the freezing room seemed palpably cozier. 

Anders snuggled up against Nathaniel, the blankets pulled to his neck. When he fell asleep, his tongue was heavy and sweet with confessions of love. 


	11. Chapter 11

After four days at the Cabot estate, most of which was devoted to helping Leona repair what parts of the home were salvageable, a letter arrived. Once the courier had warmed herself in the now-remodeled parlour and set off for her home, Leona retired to the study to read the missive.

She returned ten minutes later, her tawny skin ashen and the letter dangling limply from her hand. Before either of them could ask what was wrong, she placed her free hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and said, “Messere Howe, I think you need to read this.”

“Why--” Nathaniel managed to say before she ushered him into the adjoining room. When the door had shut behind them, she handed him the letter.

At first glance, it was a simple enough plea that the recipient notify the Howes if they came into contact with Nathaniel. However, once Nathaniel reached the final line, he understood Leona’s reaction. It was signed,  _ “Regards, Eliane Howe, Arlessa of Amaranthine.” _ Nathaniel had caught glimpses of his parents’ missives before, and they were always signed jointly. It was one of the few things they could consistently agree upon, as much a front of unity as it was an act of spite against those who opposed their marriage. For his mother to sign the letter alone… the implications were bracing. 

“I need to speak with Anders,” Nathaniel said, his voice rough as he handed the letter back to Leona. “Thank you.”

Anders’ expression shifted from joy to concern as Nathaniel joined him in the parlour. 

“It was a letter from my mother,” Nathaniel said, taking the seat next to Anders and placing a hand on his knee. 

Anders placed a hand on top of Nathaniel’s and waited for him to elaborate.

“I think something’s happened to my father. My mother’s letter didn’t say anything, but there was no mention of him anywhere in the letter. He didn’t even sign it,” Nathaniel said, burying his other hand in his hair. “I need to go back.”

“Are you sure that’s a great idea? They wanted to send you away,” Anders said, squeezing Nathaniel’s hand. 

“I just want to see if I’m right,” Nathaniel said, closing his eyes. “If something’s happened to my father… I’d prefer to learn firsthand, instead of through some half-forgotten rumour in the marketplace.”

Nathaniel could practically hear Anders come to a decision seconds before he said, “All right. I’m coming with you, though.”

“I won’t ask--” Nathaniel said at the same time before Anders’ words registered. His eyes flew open. “You are?”

Anders’ smile, while tight at the corners, was genuine. “Of course. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Nathaniel Howe.”

Nathaniel kissed him, a quick peck on the lips that stood in place of a thousand thank yous. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

#

The next dawn, they said their goodbyes to Leona and set out for Amaranthine. While the journey was arduous, they arrived at the Howe estate in record time, having pushed past the point of exhaustion into desperate, sleep-deprived energy that was just as effective a motivator as the burgeoning storm on the horizon. 

They shuffled through the front gates, staggering more and more as their weariness returned to them with interest. It was a wonder they were still able to stand by the time the guard returned and ushered them inside. Despite his better judgement, Nathaniel took a seat next to Anders on the parlour settee. 

The Arlessa entered the parlour shortly after, the very picture of composure, though there was a set to her jaw that suggested frost had found her demeanor inhospitable. Before Nathaniel could stand to properly greet her, she said, “Please sit, Nathaniel. I think we can dispense with formalities, no? I assume you read my letter.”

Nathaniel nodded, angling his body away from Anders slightly. 

“I’ll not mince words,” she said, having paused for less than a second for Nathaniel to respond. “Your father is no longer with us. I wanted to tell you in person. Whatever disagreements we’ve had in the past, you deserve that much.”

Nathaniel tried to swallow the frustration at her word choice, and mostly succeeded. “Disagreements,” as though she and the Arl hadn’t thoroughly objected whenever a glimpse of who he was slipped through the cracks in the veneer they’d crafted for him. “Disagreements,” as though they’d planned what was effectively his exile because of differing opinions on cheese. Still, he held his tongue and waited.

“I,” the Arlessa said, her voice breaking before she regained her tone of icy politeness. “I’ve had time to think, and I’ve reconsidered my stance on your squirehood. If you don’t object, I invite you to join the family at the estate once again, with a fresh start. We--I’ve missed you, Nathaniel.”

Anders’ hand, still cold to the touch, brushed against his tentatively. Nathaniel said, “And what of Anders?”

“Your companion?” his mother said, raising her eyebrows as though just seeing him. Nathaniel nodded. “I assume he is… dear to you?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said, his voice rough yet firm, like the rocks upon which waves broke. 

His mother licked her lips, rolled her shoulders, and--more warmly than she’d said anything in Nathaniel’s recent memory--said, “Then he’s welcome to stay with us. I said this was a fresh start, and I meant it.”

“Mother,” Nathaniel said, his voice choked as he stood to embrace her. 

“Welcome home, Nathaniel,” she said, her tears audible as she hugged him. 

The next few weeks, while more pleasant than Nathaniel could have expected, were still a study in frustrations and the hardiness of old habits. While the Arlessa’s commitment to change was evident, Nathaniel couldn’t help but notice the minute facial tics she developed whenever he and Anders so much as held hands around her. One night, before bed, he approached her in the library. 

“I don’t want you to think me ungrateful,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at a spot just to the right of his mother’s head. “I understand you’ve been making a tremendous effort, but--”

“I’m becoming used to the idea of you being with another man,” she said suddenly, her typically faint Orlesian accent thick as cream. “But a mage, Nathaniel? There have been reports of templar patrols in the nearby villages--how long do you think it will be until they investigate here?”

“If that happens--”

“I’ll handle it myself,” Anders said, walking over to stand at Nathaniel’s side. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I wanted something to read before bed, and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I can’t promise the templars won’t come here, but I  _ can _ promise that I won’t let your family get hurt because of me.”

Nathaniel turned to him, ready to argue. 

Anders placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“An excellent idea,” Eliane said, closing her book. “Good night, Nathaniel.”

#

“You can’t let them take you back to the tower,” Nathaniel said when he joined Anders in their shared room. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Anders said, refusing to meet Nathaniel’s gaze. 

“Then what? You’re going to leave? You’re going to just abandon--” he stopped, the word “me” trapped in his throat, its presence as heavy and obstructive as a rock. 

Anders closed his eyes and said, “What other choice do I have? I won’t ask you to leave your family for my sake.”

“Then don’t,” Nathaniel said, spitting the word out like they were bitter herbs. “Stay here and fight, if it comes to that. I won’t let them have you. Please, Anders.”

When Anders opened his eyes, they were glossy with unshed tears. “I will.”

And when the templars eventually came, he did. And he did. And he did, until his presence in the Howe household was, if not accepted, as close to unchallenged as they could hope for.

It took time, and patience, and more effort than the storybooks had shown, but they lived happily, which was more than either of them had dared to expect.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of tying up loose ends, mostly just more smut. You know how it is.

Winter turned to marshy, muggy spring, turned to stormy, sweltering summer. As was custom, the citizens of the arling had gathered to celebrate their general success at surviving Ferelden’s climate. This time, however, Nathaniel was responsible for cajoling someone into attending.

Anders sat in front of his desk, fingers drumming against the wood impatiently as he waited for Nathaniel to reach the point of his uncharacteristically meandering request. Ever since what he’d mentally dubbed the Templar Incident, Anders found himself unable to let the treatment of mages continue unchallenged. He’d been in the middle of penning an essay on the templars’ abuses when Nathaniel had asked if he had a minute. 

“I hate to be brusque,” Anders said, forcing his fingers to stop tapping, “But what did you want to ask?”

Nathaniel cleared his throat and said, “I know you’ve been busy, but would you consider attending the ball with me? We wouldn’t have to dance in a dark corridor this time.”

Anders smiled, taking Nathaniel’s hands in his ink-stained ones. “Oh? But what if I was looking forward to that?”

“ _ Maybe  _ we can meet in a dark corridor,” Nathaniel added with a short laugh. He raised Anders’ hands to his mouth and kissed the backs of them. “Does that mean you’ll attend?”

Anders stood, giving Nathaniel a quick peck on the lips. “Of course I will.”

#

“Have you been practicing?” Anders said as Nathaniel followed the dance’s steps without maiming anyone in the vicinity. True to his word, they danced in the ballroom with the other couples. 

Nathaniel’s cheeks colored slightly as he said, “I might have taken time to go over the steps a little.”

“I can tell,” Anders said, moving forward until he was just short of kissing him. The song ended, and he said, “This was wonderful, but my feet will fall off if I dance anymore.”

Nathaniel’s look of relief was utterly adorable. “I don’t think anyone would mind if we stepped out for a bit.”

“Did you have anywhere particular in mind?” Anders said as they strolled off the dance floor and towards a sparsely populated area of the room. 

“I’ve heard the darkened corridor is lovely this time of year,” Nathaniel said, trailing his hand from Anders’ elbow to his mid-back.

“As far as flirting goes, that’s not the worst attempt I’ve heard,” Anders said with a light laugh as they exited the ballroom to perform a different, more intimate type of dance.

Once they were safely away from the partygoers, Anders found himself pressed up against the stone wall as Nathaniel kissed him like they’d been separated for years. 

Anders couldn’t suppress a breathless giggle when they separated, more from exhilaration than amusement. “I didn’t realize trysts in hallways were so exciting to you. You would’ve loved the tower.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes before kissing him again. “It seems to be a recent development. Puzzling, really.”

“Ooh, a mystery? We might need to investigate further,” Anders said as he kissed along Nathaniel’s jawline, nipping occasionally. 

“I’m sure that would be a popular decision,” Nathaniel said, already unlacing his trousers. Before they could fall to the floor, he held them up around his waist and said, “Maker, I should have asked before I started undressing. Do you want this?”

If he hadn’t been so earnest, the scenario almost would have been amusing. Anders pulled Nathaniel in for another kiss, losing his laughter in short gasps and the soft slide of tongues. “Of course I do.”

As Anders hiked up his robes, he couldn’t resist adding, “If I recall, you questioned the wisdom of wearing these robes.”

“My mistake. Next time, I’ll know better than to question your feathery fashion choices,” Nathaniel said, running a calloused hand up Anders’ thigh before sinking to his knees. Without further preamble, he tugged Anders’ smalls down and took his cock into his mouth. 

Anders tangled his fingers in Nathaniel’s hair, biting his lip to keep from drawing attention as Nathaniel gave him the best blowjob of his life. Before he could come, Nathaniel pulled away and stood up. 

“Can you still do that trick?” he asked, his voice hoarser than usual. 

Anders nodded, slightly off-balance. Hands trembling a little, he grabbed Nathaniel’s hand and cast the spell. 

Nathaniel gave him a short peck on the lips, then said, “Do you mind turning around? It’ll be easier this way, probably.”

Anders complied, shivering as Nathaniel’s slicked fingers traced over his backside. Just as the anticipation was becoming unbearable, Nathaniel gently pushed inside.

It was gentle, as smooth as any of the dances performed in the ballroom proper. Nathaniel’s previous frantic passion had been tempered into pure, potent purpose as each thrust turned Anders’ legs to jelly until he was clutching the wall for support. His climax was like a hurricane blowing over a feather, leaving him boneless as Nathaniel finished seconds after. 

“That was the sweetest hallway sex I’ve had,” Anders said as they slumped to the floor in tandem. 

Nathaniel kissed him, as gentle as the eye of the storm. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course you do. I’m charming,” Anders said, booping Nathaniel’s nose. He caressed Nathaniel’s face and said, “I love you, too, Nate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed it! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry if anyone wondered what'd happened to me or my writing. Long story short, I really need to practice what I preach and stay on my meds. Ha. Maybe one day. Anyway, I'm back! I missed you all. C:


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